


The Docks

by illgetmyspade



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgetmyspade/pseuds/illgetmyspade
Summary: Clay Cox is a bastard, and Geoffrey McCullum is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 124





	The Docks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormklinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormklinge/gifts).



> Short story taking place after the fight in the attic but before the end of the Disaster.  
> Comments are, as usual, very welcome! I hope you'll enjoy the read.  
> Oh and apologies for the shitty title!

‘Feckin’ rain,’ he thought as he made his way towards the Turquoise Turtle. He had considered going straight back home, but the prospect of a drink or two to warm up and wait out of the worst rain was more tempting. Besides, he was in a foul mood already, and there was no need to take it back home and piss everybody else off. He huffed angrily, starting to feel the cold and wet creep into his flesh and bones. To make things worse, his shoulder and neck were still stiff and aching from the fight a few nights ago, and there was a particularly nasty bruise on his hip, hurting as the hilt of his sword bounced against it with every step. The pain would subside, but the humiliation of defeat would linger, he knew that. The bloody leeches prowled the streets as much as they stalked his dreams these days and nights, so he stayed awake instead and hunted them until he was so exhausted that his sleep would be blank and dreamless.

There were still plenty of Skals and other blood drinkers to make it unsafe for any unarmed civilian to wander the city at night, but their numbers had clearly gone down, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. Tonight, he’d caught two Skals feeding on some unfortunate’s body in a dark alley – demented, flesh rotting off their bones yet still ferociously aggressive and dangerous. And although he’d managed to kill them without getting a single scratch, it had been a tiring fight.

He was unconsciously rubbing his aching shoulder, when a shadow appeared before him in the street.

“Oi, what the fuck you think you’re doin’ ‘ere?!”

There was no mistaking that voice. “Cox, just get the hell out of my way, I have no time for your antics tonight,” he groaned in reply, walking on without slowing down. He was sure that the leader of the Wet Boot Boys couldn’t possibly be on his own – he didn’t roam the city at night without at least two of his goons ever since he’d nearly been stabbed to death by some lad out to take revenge – but this wasn’t the reason he wanted to avoid a brawl tonight. He was just tired.

“Now look who we ‘ave ‘ere,” Cox said when he got closer, stepping into his path. Two men appeared from the darkness behind him.

“I told you, Cox, I’m in a hurry, I have no time to-“

A sharp pain shot through him as he received a heavy punch into his kidney from behind. Fucking hell, he might have known there was another of the bastards hiding close by. He clutched at his side and quickly turned around to face his assailant, reaching for his sword. Fine, he’d give them what they wanted, he thought, when another blow hit his triceps and humerus so hard that he dropped the sword.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he yelled before another blow struck him across the back, knocking the air out of his lungs. Despite the rush of adrenaline, his tired brain was too slow to even register where the blows came from. Another accurate hit struck against the nook of his shoulder, bringing pain so intense that he dropped to his knees with a helpless yelp, raising his arms to protect his head as best as he could from the vicious blows. Another well-placed kick in his chest sent him crashing against the cobblestones with such force that he couldn’t breathe at all for a few seconds. He felt panic rise as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs while trying to avoid the blows and kicks until he felt himself losing consciousness.

But then the beating stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun. He tasted blood, the warm liquid filling his mouth, choking him. The pain spread through his body like liquid metal, burning and suffocating. He heard muffled voices and tried to focus on his surroundings but could only make out dark shades moving about him.

* * *

“Why, hullo, Dr Reid!” Clay Cox greeted him in a thin voice. “Doin’ your rounds?” He gave the doctor a friendly smile, while his three fellow Wet Boot Boys acknowledged him with a quiet “Evenin’, Doc.”

“Indeed I am,” Jonathan replied, “good thing, too.” He fixed his gaze on Cox, who stepped aside to obstruct the doctor’s view on the man lying on the ground behind him. “It looks like my assistance is needed here.” He sounded light enough but could still sense Cox tense up, heart beating just a tad faster.

“Very kind of you, Dr Reid, but we’re just fine,” Cox smiled, pretending he was trying to hide the threat resounding in his voice.

Jonathan laughed inwardly. That stupid bastard really thought he could intimidate him, and for a second the Ekon wondered whether the gang leader had never wondered about his deathly pallor or other strange habits. He considered playing along a bit more, but a groan of pain from the injured man on the ground made him change his mind. “Step aside, Cox, and let me do my job,” he said, voice cold and calm.

Cox raised his chin, furrowed his brows and clenched his fists – tiny movements of a man accustomed to fighting, warning his opponent to take this last chance and leave it be.

The tension hadn’t gone unnoticed by his companions. They shuffled their feet and gripped their truncheons harder, shifting their focus on Reid – none of them wanted to fight the doctor, but they wouldn’t dare disobey Cox, either.

“Like I said,” Cox hissed, “ain’t nuthin’ here for you, Dr Reid.”

Jonathan might have let it slip and tried to reason with the man, had Cox not turned around at another low moan from the injured man and given him a hard kick to the ribs, telling him to shut the fuck up. It was as much a sign of his anger at his victim as a warning for Reid to get lost, and fast. It was enough to heat up what little blood coursed through Jonathan’s body, and before Cox or his men could react, he had grabbed the smaller man by his neck and shoved him against the wall a few feet behind them.

Cox stared at him with eyes widened in terror, struggling to get free, his feet kicking helplessly in the air.

“You step back,” Jonathan turned around and growled, giving the other three men a warning look.

They might have noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes or realised the strength usually hidden beneath his civil composure and delicate features – whatever it was, it made them lower their weapons and step away a bit, giving up their aggressive stance.

“Good lads.” Jonathan bared his teeth in a predatory growl just enough they wouldn’t notice the sharp tips of his fangs. Turning to Cox, he tightened his grip just slightly, effectively stilling the man’s desperate struggle. “Do not forget that I saved your life once, Clay,” he said in a low voice, looking straight into the man’s bulging eyes. “Do not make me regret it.” Tightening his grip around Cox’ throat, he leaned in closely. “If I ever find out you’re at this shit again, I will have your head, Cox. And, trust me, I _will_ find out.” He loosened his grip, stepping back to look at the other man’s face until he saw Cox acknowledge the message. “And now you take your damned dogs and leave, before I change my mind about you lot.” He let go, and Cox fell to his knees, gasping and coughing, rubbing his neck.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he croaked, a weak threat lingering in his gaze. Then he stood up on unsure legs and, with the support of two of his men, they left the docks in a hurry and without looking back.

Jonathan knelt down beside the figure lying in the dirt. He brushed a strand of damp hair from the man’s bloody forehead. “McCullum, can you hear me?”

The hunter gave a groan. He recognised that voice, muffled though it was by the blood rushing in his ears and the pain throbbing behind his eyes. He tried to tell Reid to fuck off and mind his own business, but all he managed was an unintelligible slur as blood was pooling in his mouth. He coughed, splattering blood over his own face. Curse it, if that wasn’t an invitation for the damned leech. He tried to shove the doctor’s hand away as Reid turned him to lie on his side.

“Easy, McCullum,” Jonathan whispered, putting a comforting hand on the hunter’s shoulder. He could tell Geoffrey was scared, but he also sensed him relax somewhat despite the pain.

“Let me have a look at your injuries,” he said quietly, focusing on the blood flow in the body before him while doing his best to ignore its delicious smell where Geoffrey had open wounds.

“Fuck off, leech!” the hunter hissed, spitting more blood.

“Hmm,” Jonathan replied affirmatively as he gently ran his hands over McCullum’s face and neck. He had multiple abrasions and cuts on his face, but thankfully no bones seemed to be broken. There was, however, a large bump on the back of his head where Jonathan suspected he had been kicked. He winced at the thought of it, feeling anger rise again.

“I’ll take you to the Pembroke, those injuries need to be taken care of,” he said as he forced himself not to think of Cox and his goons, realising that he sounded much too worried for his own liking.

“Not the Pembroke, please, I won’t go there!” Geoffrey cried, voice slurred by the pain and his bitten tongue.

“I think you should-“ Reid began, somewhat surprised by the hunter’s obvious horror, but he was interrupted.

“Not the Pembroke! They have a feckin’ leech doctor there!” Geoffrey hissed.

“A leech doctor?!” Jonathan feigned shock, “what an absolute outrage! I will make sure to notify the staff of it.” He hid a grin, but realised that McCullum was quite serious about not wanting to be brought to the Pembroke. “Will you be all right with the Turquoise Turtle then?” It was the only alternative he could think of, and surely Tom would have a spare room. In any case McCullum’s injuries needed to be tended to, and he had to get out of the rain and cold.

Geoffrey groaned in reply.

“I’ll take that as a Yes,” Jonathan said quietly, moving to pick the hunter up in his arms. “Do you mind if I carry you there?” he asked.

“Yes, too feckin’ close, leech!” Geoffrey rasped, trying to sound angry. “I can walk there, keep your hands off me!” He hated the thought of being carried by a bloodsucker, feeling vulnerable and helpless, especially since he knew exactly what Reid was capable of.

“You cannot walk there,” Jonathan softly but adamantly corrected him. “I swear I won’t hurt you. Please, trust me,” he added almost pleadingly.

Geoffrey growled, but he figured the alternative was worse – lying in the rain, waiting for Reid to hopefully come back while other leeches were still prowling the area was even less appealing than being in Reid’s arms. Besides, if the leech had wanted to kill him, he would have done so; after all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had the chance before. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and the Ekon picked him up carefully.

Geoffrey inhaled sharply, biting back a cry of pain.

“Sorry,” Jonathan muttered apologetically. The hunter was heavy, but what Jonathan noticed instead was the warmth emanating from McCullum’s body, even through layers of soaked clothing. It was only now that he realised how much he had missed it – and of all people it had to be the one person who hated him most who had to remind him of it. He closed his eyes for a second when the hunter wrapped an arm around his neck to steady himself, unknowingly tugging at the aching emptiness within him.

“We’re almost there,” Jonathan said in a husky voice, more to himself than to the man in his arms, trying to dispel the uneasy thoughts that had crept into his mind.

The windows of the Turquoise Turtle were glowing welcomingly through the sheets of rain, and Jonathan sighed in relief. Then he thought about the sight they must be, and for a split second he even worried that Cox and his men might have found refuge at the bar, too, fearing that he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he crossed paths with the bastards again tonight. He only sensed two heartbeats though, and when he pushed open the door, he was glad to find it was Tom and Sabrina, no customer.

“Uh, hello Dr Reid,” Tom greeted, confused rather than shocked. “What’s this about then?”

“I need your help. McCullum was attacked and needs medical assistance – do you happen to have a spare room I could use?”

“McCullum?” Tom raised a brow, wondering why the doctor had to bring the Irishman to his bar of all places; though, after what he’d picked up from drunk customers, he wasn’t surprised that Priwen weren’t welcome at the Pembroke. “Sure, first room up the stairs is empty,” he finally said, deciding he had no reason to distrust Reid.

“Do you need anything?” Sabrina asked, shooting McCullum a worried glance.

“Some bandages, gauze, antiseptic… whatever you have available?” Jonathan gave Tom a helpless look. “I’ll pay for it.”

“I’ll get it,” Sabrina said, rushing off to the barkeeper’s private quarters. “I’ll bring some warm water, too.”

Tom shrugged, turning to cleaning the counter again. He assumed Reid was more than capable of handling this medical… whatever it was, and he preferred to stay out of Priwen’s trouble anyway. As long as he wouldn’t have to renovate the room after the surgery, he didn’t even care much about what the two were up to.

For his part, Jonathan was simply glad that Tom or Sabrina hadn’t asked any questions about the attack – or anything else, for that matter.

“Can you please let me down now?” McCullum groaned. He was freezing and very uncomfortable being so close to the leech, the more so as Reid felt strangely warm and comforting. “Get your paws off me!” he growled in an attempt to dispel the unwelcome thoughts, though his voice lacked the usual venom.

“Yes, hang on, McCullum,” Jonathan said, “let’s get you out of your wet things so you won’t mess up the sheets.” With his foot, he pulled a chair towards himself. “Can you sit for a minute?” he asked, helping Geoffrey sit down.

The hunter grimaced but nodded. It hurt and he was beginning to feel slightly sick, though for the moment he was distracted by Reid carefully taking off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn’t help shiver at the cool air on his damp skin and almost wished for the phantom warmth to return, when a knock on the door caught both their attention.

It was Sabrina, carrying a box of medical supplies and a towel under her arm and a steaming basin in her hands. Noticing the tense atmosphere in the room, she placed the things on the table, nodded towards Jonathan and left the room without a word.

“This is probably going to hurt,” Jonathan whispered as he began washing the grime off McCullum’s face. The hunter winced when he felt Reid’s cool fingers on his cheeks, and Jonathan muttered an apology.

“Does it still hurt?” Jonathan asked quietly when his fingers brushed across the bitemarks he had left in the hunter’s shoulder during their fight in the attic. A wave of shame swept over him, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry I-“ he began, but Geoffrey interrupted him.

“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” the Irishman lied. “It’s all right,” he eventually added in a quiet voice. He knew he had only himself to blame for it, though he was glad that Reid apparently felt just as bad about the fight as he did.

The silence grew heavier while Jonathan cleaned up the blood, wrapped the towel around Geoffrey’s shoulders and disinfected and bandaged the wounds. When he knelt down to unlace and take off the hunter’s boots, Geoffrey cursed the turn the night had taken, wishing he could be back at Priwen headquarters instead of having the bloody leech doctor care for him. And, as much as he hated it, it was obvious that Reid _did_ care – he could tell by the way the leech touched him, almost delicately, careful not to hurt him, yet doing his best to keep his distance to show he was no threat.

“There, almost done,” Jonathan finally said, getting up. He helped Geoffrey stand and walk over to the bed before unbuckling the hunter’s belt and shoving down his wet and dirty trousers, while the hunter held onto the leech’s shoulders so as not to lose his balance; he felt miserable and sick, and one of his ankles hurt so much that he couldn’t put any weight on it.

Jonathan helped him sit on the bed and lie down, lifting his legs onto the mattress. Large bruises were already forming on the hunter’s thighs and calves – on top of older ones, as Jonathan guiltily noted – but there was no blood. The skin felt damp and cold, however, so he dried them off. “Your pants are wet,” he said finally, but he made no move to take them off.

Geoffrey grunted as he reached for them to push them down, but then he stopped half-way, letting out a moan of pain. He didn’t need to ask the leech for his help and instead closed his eyes in embarrassment. He briefly wondered whether he had wet himself while being beaten, adding to his shame, but then Reid just tucked him in and unceremoniously reached under the blankets to take off his pants.

“Are you cold?” Jonathan asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice. “Do you need anything else?” he continued when Geoffrey shook his head.

“No, just let me die,” the hunter groaned.

Jonathan gave him a chuckle. “You’ll be fine, McCullum.” He gently put a hand on the hunter’s forehead. “I have to go now, it’s nearly dawn, but I’ll make sure your men will know that you’re here,” he said quietly, awkwardly aware of how concerned he sounded. “Please stay here for another day, and make sure to rest for a few days, will you?” He half expected the hunter to object, but Geoffrey just nodded exhaustedly. “If you feel worse…” Jonathan hesitated. “Well, Pembroke’s resident leech doctor is at your service, always,” he finally said, turning around quickly to leave the room.

“Reid?” Geoffrey’s husky voice stopped him. “Thank you.”

Jonathan gave him a smile and nodded. “You’re welcome, McCullum.”

* * *

As Jonathan hurried across the street towards the dump he had claimed as his own, he smiled to himself. For the first time in a long while he felt that McCullum might be more than the woodsman Swansea had claimed him to be. And that maybe, just maybe, the leader of the Priwen Guard could eventually be… swayed to his ideals.


End file.
